


Normal again

by Bumocusal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "Alive" John Winchester, Abandonment, Alive Mary Winchester, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Angry Castiel, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Awesome Crowley, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Leaves, Castiel comes back, Child Abandonment, Confused Dean Winchester, Constructed Reality, Crowley Has a Heart, Dean Being an Asshole, Dean Has Abandonment Issues, Dean Has Commitment Issues, Djinni & Genies, Episode: s06e17 Normal Again, Hallucinations, Illusions, Love Confessions, M/M, Poison, Poisoned Dean, Poisoning, Sam Is So Done, Season/Series 12, Trust Issues, commitment issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumocusal/pseuds/Bumocusal
Summary: Sam, tenderly, says, "Castiel isn't real.""Castiel?"Bobby shakes his head, gruff. Patting Dean's arm, "No, son. Castiel isn't real. Say it. It'll help you believe it."Dean's mouth shakes, "Castiel is real. He pulled me from Hell. You're the fake ones."John smiles sadly, "Your mind. Playing tricks on you." After being poisoned by a djinn, Dean comes to believe that he has been in a coma for the past twelve years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was my baby. Not even joking. 10k was a lot, and I know you probably think I'm exaggerating. But this was the first fanfiction I wrote that was actually finished and lengthy. So, thanks to everyone who enjoyed it. 
> 
> It is a Buffy The Vampire Slayer AU, not that you have to watch that episode to understand this. But I would recommend that series if you love Supernatural because Buffy is great for the hiatus. (Plus, it's on Netflix.)
> 
> EDIT 2/3/2018: I am now doing a deep edit of this story. If you're reading this, the story is currently being rewritten.
> 
> EDIT 2/22/2018: Just finished reworking the story. If you had already read this, it's completely different now and you might enjoy giving it another go. It took almost twenty days, but I'm finally content with the story and how it ends. Thanks for bearing with me and taking the time to read this mess!
> 
> Abby

  
Dean searches the newly rented houses, the calm and quiet neighborhood a strange backdrop for the Djinn. He walks down the sidewalk, with a quirk of his lips and fingers shoved in his pockets. This November had been unusually warm, but as soon as night fell the temperature followed. Even back in Kansas, south of the Mason-Dixon line, the air had a strange humid coolness to it. The slight march married to his step showed the concentration he was hiding from his face. He reaches an intersection, glow of the streetlight granting him sight, and stops. This was the worst part of hunting, surveillance.

 

Sam was back the motel, closer to the city, while Dean was forced to stake out suburbia. It was always like this, their dad decided early on that Dean was born the heavy lifter and Sam was regulated to books and libraries. Checking the name of the cross street, Chevon Boulevard was an unusual name for such a trashy street, Dean pulls out a piece of paper with a list of addresses Sam thought might be contenders for the Djinn’s location.

 

All but one of them were crossed out, making him sigh in relief. Dean takes his pen from behind his ear and crosses it out with satisfaction. He puts the paper away and continues his trek down the cross street.

 

 

“So get this,” Sam had said, “There's a possible case in West Virginia."

 

"What's going on?" He asked, not bothering to look up from his phone. Mary hadn't texted him in over a week, and every side of his brain was debating each other. There was the logical hunter side that chastised him for being too uptight and the other was the worry-wart who wanted him to do a location spell pronto. He had already sent two texts since her last, but was sending another too clingy?

 

"Three men and one woman were jailed who claim to have been teleported into their dream-world. They attempted to murder all of their family and friends because it was, and I quote, all an illusion. Essentially, they believed their life wasn't real."

 

Mary could handle herself, he was sure of that. But ever since Asa's funeral and Billy's proposal, he'd been even more jittery the longer it took her to respond. He tried to focus on the case, it had sounded like an average group of cult psychos. Dean hadn't been that convinced, and he'd said as much to an uninterrupted Sam.

 

"They all insist that before they had _seen the truth_ a woman covered with tattoos with glowing eyes had jumped them. Stuck a needle in them. Sounding familiar?” Sam had this cheesy smirk on his face.

 

Sighing, "They're familiciding and then what? Going to jail? How is the Djinn feeding?"

 

"Well, only the ones unsuccessful are going to jail. The other five turned into vegetables, sudden comas that have the doctors scratching their heads. Want to know the kicker? They've all got this creepy ass smile on their face. It's freaking the nurses out."

 

"How is she feeding, Sammy?"

 

Sam throws up his hands, "Maybe it's not a traditional Djinn. One that doesn't feed but just does it for the thrill. It could happen. Remember Brigitta? She poisoned us with a touch but never feed on us. And it just added hallucinations, no full out dream."

 

"Maybe. I mean, we did have that fear-inducing Djinn," Dean reluctantly agreed.

 

"Good. Now, this is all happening in a very contained area. So, I've got a list of abandoned and recently bought places I'm going to need you to check out. The game is afoot, Sherlock. Time to go investigate."

 

"Such a fuckin' nerd."

 

The duo had asked around town first.

 

Dean smoothed down his fed suit, straightened his tie, and tightened his laces. He wiped some crusted sleep out of his right eye that had been left over from his short disco nap. Sam had been putting up and taking down his hair for the last ten minutes, too long to be spent in front of a mirror, eventually setting on a low bun at the back of his neck.

 

"Is that even FBI regulated?" Dean asked, teasingly.

 

"Shut up, Jerk," Then took his hair back out just to spite him.

 

Dean groaned, "Just hurry up."

 

Questioning the local police had been a bust. They were just as confused as everyone else. The sheriff had even suggested it was because millennials were always on their phones, brainwashing them into a murder spree, "If God wanted us to always stare at a screen, he would have made us with telephone hands." Dean had barely restrained his laughter, especially when Sam kicked him.

 

They checked out the hospital. But nothing new was brought to the table. The coma patients just laid in the bed with an absent grin on their face, which sent a chill up his spine. A nurse had come in with them, she had a grimace on her face the entire time.

 

Leaning towards Dean, she whispers, "Creepy, right?"

 

"Yeah," He replied, watching Sam shuffle closer to one of the bodies. It was one of the older ones, an African American teen with braces and permed hair, "Do you know anything about them? Like, brain activity? Anything that could help with the case?"

 

She hesitates, "See the girl towards the back?"

 

Dean looks and nods, the girl is definitely the youngest out of the group, "Yeah. She can't be older than twelve."

 

"Nine," The nurse replies, "I use to babysit for her family. They were so normal, both parents worked here at the hospital. Had barbecues and picnics. Hell, they had a fucking Frozen themed birthday party last year for her, how much more regular can you get? They just seemed so balanced."

 

"They always do," He assured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 

"I was, uh, babysitting," She shivers at the memory, "Late night, but after I put her to bed I could leave. Little Madison had found a nail gun, Kim was redecorating her craft room and left it laying around. It was an honest mistake, one I've done multiple times without even thinking about it. When I came into work the next morning, I saw Kim and Bill in the morgue. It was shocking, to say the least. Madison was up here like she is now."

 

Dean nods, "You think this is a sect-cult thing?"

 

The nurse shrugs, still worked up over the story, "Honestly, I don't know. But Kim had over thirty nails embedded in her face. Bill had over fifty in his neck. If this was a splinter group indoctrination, that little girl was sick. Because she enjoyed it."

 

Sam clapped his hands, breaking the bubble of eerie that had settled around them, "I've seen everything I've needed to see."

 

Dean thanks the nurse and follows Sam out of the hospital, "Find anything?"

 

"No EMF or hex bags. Which only narrows it to what we already expected. A Djinn," Sam responded, pulling out his cell phone and going to google, "Let's go find a motel, you can start searching the list of neighborhoods and houses I've put together. And remember Dean, this is a stealth mission so please don't go looking for a fight."

 

 

Dean walks up to the empty house, peeking through the glassless window. It looks abandoned and condemned. The floorboards are ripped up, wallpaper peeled back to show obviously moldy drywall, and he can practically see the entire first floor from the walls being torn down to the studs. It was an asbestos and black mold landmine. The door is completely boarded up and the window has glass shards around the frame. He could probably kick down the back door.

 

He walks around the side, through a small alley and jumping over a wooden fence, then stops when he hears a noise.

 

A sexy looking woman steps out of the dark before him. She's got long black hair, which falls down her shoulders in ringlets. It casts a shadow on her already hard to make out face, but the deep arch to her lips stands out like a beacon. Said lips curve into an appreciative smirk, her eyes flash blue and Dean notices the tattoos all over her exposed neck.

 

"Oh, hi."

 

"Dean Winchester? Wow, feels like I'm meeting a celebrity," She husks as they began to subconsciously circle each other. She eyes Dean like a rabid beast. "You're much more appetizing in person, I must say. All the stories haven't done you justice." The Djinn swings, fast and heavy. Dean ducks, and pulls out his gun, he fumbles the aim and she knocks it out of his hands with a swift kick, "Oh, sweety, that won't work on me."

 

"Headshot _will_ kill your kind," Dean confirms, backing up a little bit, "Extreme brain trauma is the loophole to the lambs blood shit."

 

The Djinn leers at him, "I'm not just a Djinn."

 

He crashes hard as she sends a rough kick to his stomach, blood seeps through his shirt where she punctured the skin. Shaking his head and attempting to get up, he pulls out his cell phone from his back pocket to text an SOS to Sam. He falls, though, as she pounces on him, crunching the cell in her hands. She pins him, and grins, "Don't fight it, Dean. I'm simply trying to help you see the truth."

 

"Sure, Bitch. Now, get off me before I kill you. Your kind doesn't have the best track record with Winchesters."

 

"The name is Adriana, not Bitch," The Djinn places both her hands on his temples, "And I'd like to see you try."

 

He struggles, trying to shake himself out of her iron grip. He feels pressure begin to build in his skull, pulsing faster and faster like an escalating heartbeat. It's drumming remarkably loudly in his ears, like headphones with max volume. 

 

He flails, desperate, aggressive, then—

 

 

Dean is laying down with a tube stuck in his throat in a tiny room, an undressed twin cot next to him, mattress striped with navy and azure with yellowish stains littered over it and the crisp white bedding on the ground. For a few sluggish seconds, it feels like everything is in slow motion. He takes the time to absorb his new settings before coughing violently around the tube snaked down his esophagus.

 

The entire room is violet, he'd read online once this specific color was soothing and almost painted his room it in the bunker, but decided not to since purple had certain associations he wasn't comfortable with. Other than that, the room is vacant and lacking anything warm and inviting. There are no sharp objects or movable items. The bed frame even has cushioning on the corners. 

 

It feels childproof. 

 

The tube is like a fire poker in his windpipe. He can feel the air being forced into his lungs. A ventilator, definitely. Was he in a coma? Did Sam find him and bring him to a hospital? Why did he feel so weak? And there is definitely something in his penis. A catheter, probably. He tries to pull the tube out of his mouth and alarms go off. His hands shake as nausea rumbles his stomach.

 

There is one window in the small room, which has enough of a reflection in it for him to catch a glimpse of himself. He's wearing a tan clinic gown and socks. Weird compression ankle warmers are wrapped around his calfs. His hair looks greasy and flat, laying on his head across his forehead limply. His eyes are streaked red and bloodshot with deep dark circles. His skin is pale and sickly, cheeks sunken in and hollow making his complexion resemble a skeleton. His collarbone is jutting out above the collar of his gown in a way that can't be healthy for his body type. Dean's arms are skinny and have no muscle definition, just like his gaunt stomach. He almost hyperventilates at the missing devil trap on his chest.

 

He snaps his attention to the three orderlies trying to restrain him. "Dean, Stop fighting! You're gonna hurt yourself! Calm down!"

 

He rears his head back, eyes open wide in astonishment. Blinking hard. Gasping. Eyes darting everywhere. The three guys come closer and he swears they're going to attack him. He strikes out before they can, landing a solid swipe of his hand with the closest man. Stunning him enough to make him back away. Dean feels tears gather in his eyes as he tries to pull the tube out again.

 

"Strap him down," The man says, holding his now bleeding nose. Dean shrinking against the bed as he's trapped by the group. Confused. Tears streak down his face as irritation erupts in his veins.

 

 

—He's laying down panting, behind the house, again. He scans the area to see if the Djinn is gone. Dean, stunned and dizzy, rubs his head as a killer headache starts to pulse behind his eyes. Everything hurts, including a small ache in his joints. And due to his little episode, he's probably infected. Sam is going to kick his ass.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam paces nervously, checks the analog clock, and tries to calm down. He scowls at his cell phone, willing it to deliver a text. Dean hadn't come back yet and as the seconds clicked by his uneasiness grew. The tick-tock felt like thunder in the remarkably quiet motel room. He tapped his fingers on the kitchenette's counter to the beat. 

 

He's about to call Cas when the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine sounds from outside. He nearly passes out in relief.

 

Looking out the blinds, he sees Dean stumbling out of the driver's side, holding his head and balancing his obviously intoxicated footing. Sam almost growls when he realizes Dean had apparently gone out drinking. And like usual, didn't tell him.

 

Dean walks in, looking haggard, with a frown on his face.

 

"What took so long?" Sam asked irritated, "You were just supposed to scope out the addresses."

 

"I, uh—" Dean paused, "—ran into the Djinn. She poisoned me."

 

"What?" Sam blurted, immediately guilty at even thinking his previous thoughts. He sees the blood smeared all over Dean's undershirt and flannel. Dean wanders over to his bed, spaced out. He doesn't answer Sam and instead stares at the continuous ticking of the motel's clock. It's an hour behind, probably because of daylight savings ending. The steady tempo makes him drowsy like he's being put into a trance. Sam watches his brother in wonder. "Dean? Are you going explain what happened?"

 

But Dean doesn't even acknowledge the question, his focus entirely on the clock. It's like watching the small hand go around the full loop is cocaine. Pulling him deeper and deeper into his thoughts.  

 

 

And he's in the gown again. He jerks up into a sitting position, vacillating with confusion. Then starts panicking. His breathing gets erratic. A nurse approaches him with a friendly smile.

 

"C'mon, Dean. Stay awake—"

 

 

"Snap out of it!"

 

Dean's splashed with cold water. He's is back from another split-second lapse. He catches his breath, absorbing his surroundings. Sam is standing in front of him, astonished. He's got an empty cup at his side, presumably the source of the water. It drips down his face and onto his crotch. Very uncomfortable.

 

"What?" He asked, slowly.

 

"I said, snap out of it Dean," Sam looks notably concerned. "You completely zoned out for like, a whole minute."

 

He blinks at him, tries to put it all together. "Okay. Sounds good."

 

Sam registers that, then freaks out, starts walking back and forth frantically. He pulls out his cellphone, "You're definitely on some Djinn juice. Go to the bathroom and wrap that stomach wound. I'll come help you in a minute."

 

"What'you doing?" Dean's words jumble together, still only half awake. He stands up, wincing, and walks over to Sam.

 

Sam, tightly, typing out a message and hitting send, "Messaging Mom. She might know a cure for Djinn poisoning, it was Samuel who knew it before and he could've passed it down."

 

"No," Dean protests, "She can't see me like this."

 

"Shut up, Dean," Sam replies, then glances back down at the vibrating cell. "Besides, she's already on her way."

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
Mary pulls up in a jalopy. A fucking lemon. She comes to the door with a small smile, immediately pulling Sam into a tight hug. He buries his head in her neck. When she pulls away, she pats his cheek. Long and heartfelt. She doesn't offer Dean a hug, and even if it stings, he's almost grateful she respects his boundaries. Sam closes the door and they walk into the room, "Where were you? We were worried."

 

She sits on the couch, head reclining back and letting out a breath of air, the boys sit next to her, "I know. I tried calling. But I couldn't talk without feeling like I'd messed everything up."

 

"Are you okay?" Sam questions.

 

Mary nods. An awkward moment goes by as she gathers courage. "I'm sorry. For disappearing. For walking out like that."

 

"You don't need to apologize to us," Sam says, gently, he shifts closer to her like a bug being drawn to the light. Dean gets up, stomach-injury quivering at the movement. Walking a little, unable to keep still. The fuzzy feeling creeps up in the back of his mind. Like a vice tightening on his mind.

 

"I needed my space. Wanted to collect my thoughts. But I shouldn't have neglected you, boys. The abandonment you reasonably already felt, I'm sure my impromptu leaving couldn't have helped that. I messed up and I'm sorry," Marry says, eyes following Deans movements.

 

"Hey, we all screw-up. And who knows, sometimes life gives us what we need anyway," Sam replies. He notices Dean a second later, "You okay, Dean?"

 

Dean attempts to answer, but a wave of dizzy hits him. He stutter-steps back, reaches for his head and, "I'm, um, not feeling too great."

 

 

 

He starts mumbling incoherently. He tries to focus, as if back from a living dream. Seeing nothing but blurry figures. He feels like he's laying down again, but there is a weakness in his bones like they're never used. Someone steps toward him. They're tall, one word comes spewing from his mouth. 

 

"Sammy?"

 

His voice is croaky, weak from underuse. As the vowels pass through his windpipe, he coughs. It burns like laryngitis or acid-reflux. He can feel his throat constricting and convulsing, which sends him into an even bigger coughing fit.

 

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

 

A doctor. As kind-looking and compassionate as they come. He's towering over Dean and has a short afro with huge lens glasses that take up half of his face. He's wearing a beige pullover sweater or maybe it's a cardigan, Dean doesn't take enough time to find out. Instead, he freezes, realizing it's not Sam or their mom.

 

"Whe. . . what is this?"

 

He concentrates. Begins to recognize the space from his previous flashes. It looks exactly the same as last time, but the blinds are pulled tightly closed. Meaning the only light is from the artificial fluorescent lights, which flutters at a faithful rate, irritating his eyes. His breathing escalates with fear and panic, and he closes his eyes.

 

"Dean, do you know where you are?"

 

"My motel?"

 

The doctor puts a hand on his shoulder and Dean jumps. He backs off, proceeding as gently as imaginable. "No, Dean, none of that is real. None of it. You're in a hospital. You were in a very serious automobile accident. A semi-truck hit the passenger side of your car. You've been with us twelve years now, do you remember?"

 

Dean focuses sporadically, blinking in and out. Inching away from him in hysteria. There are too many things going on at once, the flickering synthetic lights bring an uncomfortable distraction. But one he willingly takes.

 

"It's gonna be okay. Look who's here," The doctor steps away, much to Dean's relief, and allows three people to step forward. 

 

Sam, John, and Bobby.

 

Bobby and Sam approach, tentatively and full of emotion. His stomach plunges at the sight. Dean's eyes widen. He begins to hyperventilate. Bobby stops and reaches out for Sam's arm to stop him, not wanting to scare Dean any further. He notices John staying in the corner of the room, a tightness to the corner of his mouth.

 

"Dean?" Sam smiles, on the verge of tears, "Welcome home, Jerk."

 

His face consumed with shock, Dean whispers, "This isn't real."

 

Because his Dad is alive. John stares at him with wariness. "Hey, Son."

 

John look's older. That much is evident, has gray salt-and-peppered in his hair and beard. He's got crows feet and sharp laugh lines and has wrinkles Dean never thought he'd ever see his Dad have and seems genuinely healthy.  Dean blinks, trying to make it stop. Still too much in shock to do anything else.

 

"You're really here," John continues.

 

It seems so real. It's amazing. The mere possibility of having his Dad next to him again makes tears spring to his eyes.

 

"Dad?"

 

"He's lucid." The doctor seems shocked, "Keep talking. The sound of your voice might help ground him—"

 

He breaks the spell. Dean freaks out again. He darts his eyes around and sees Sam, "We've missed you so much, Jerk. Can you hear me?"

 

Dean's heart skips a beat. Sam look's great. Very tanned and hair sun-streaked like he was going outside a lot instead of staying inside researching and avoiding sunlight like a vampire. He was bulky and muscled in a way that suggested he went to the gym regularly, plus the kid was wearing glasses. Not hipster-douche chic like the Doctors, but basic black frames that fitted his face. 

 

Bobby pats his knee and Dean stares at him in awe. Seeing his dad was one thing, but having Bobby, his surrogate dad, back alive was a dream come true. The sight of his family, together, makes his throat close up, but then he shakes his head. He knows this can't be real. Just the effects of the Djinn.

 

"Dean? Stay with us, plea—"

 

 

 

He is rubbing his head, eyes unfocused and stumble against the wall. Wracked by his lapse. He looks around in a panic. Recovering his surroundings, "No."

 

"Dean? Are you okay?" Mary asks, standing up from the couch, she reaches out and grabs him, keeping him from falling. Sam rushes over to help. Dean can't talk. Still dizzy. Spent from his hallucination. He bends over, grasping his abdomen, pain shooting from the original cut to connected nerves, making his whole body throb achingly.

 

"I'm— I'm... fine," Dean tries.

 

"C'mon, Sam. Help me get him on the bed."

 

They put him on the bed, and Marry goes to the kitchenette to get a glass of water filled with ice. She hands the glass to Dean who takes a sip. The cold water hitting his sensitive teeth is enough of a shock, to make him shake off the last bit of loopiness, "Now, tell us what happened."

 

"I was checking houses on the list you put together, looking for the Djinn. Then bam. She jumped out and attacked me."

 

"What did she look like?" Sam asked.

 

"She was hot," Dean says, ignoring the disgruntled look Marry made, "Name was Adriana. She squeezed my melon really hard, and then it was like I— No. Not like. I was in a hospital. There were doctors and nurses. They told me I was sick. Crazy, I guess. And that all of this. None of it was real. Just part of some coma dream made up in my head."

 

"That's ridiculous. What, you think this isn't real just because of all the monsters and the demons and the mark of Cain and God's sister that magicked Mom back to life?" He stops. Hearing what he's saying, "Well, that does sound screwy. But it's not."

 

"It all felt so real."

 

"Did it hurt? The hallucination, I mean." Mary asked.

 

"At first. But then it's like, calming? Dad and Bobby were there and they had aged. They looked great. Sam, you were there too, looking like a million bucks. I nearly had an aneurysm when I saw dad standing there. Seriously."

 

There's silence as Mary and Sam try to understand the emotional impact that must've had on Dean. Sam spring up, trying to break the mood, "Okay! Mom do you know the antidote for Djinn poisoning?"

 

"I'm afraid not," Mary replies, watching Dean in interest.

 

Sam claps his hands, "That's fine. I'm going to start researching. Maybe dig up some lore. Might even drive back to Kansas and look through the men of letter's information. Do you think I should call Cas? Because—"

 

 

Dean blinks, losing focus. Sam's voice is a distant drone. His eyes turn heavy and he turns his head. Trying not to drift asleep but failing.

 

He's back in the hospital bed, but the IV is out of his arm and his catheter is removed. Turning his head to look at the doctor currently droning on like Sam was. He blinks, not comprehending. He's totally out of it. Bobby, John, Sam, and a toddler sitting sit next to him, listening intently to the doctor.

 

"...possibilities for a full recovery. But we have to proceed cautiously. If we're not careful—"

 

"Wait. There's a chance Dean might be like he was before all this happened?" Sam asks.

 

The doctor smiles gently, "Mr. Winchester, you have to understand the severity of what's happened to your brother. For the last twelve years, he's been in an undifferentiated type of unconsciousness. A coma that—"

 

"We know what his condition is. That's not what we're asking," John snaps.

 

The doctor hesitates. "There's a lot about the mind that we still don't understand."

 

"What do you understand?" Bobby asks, looking over to Dean compassionately. He leans closer and grasps his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The sensation makes pins and needles running up his arm and is a reality check he didn't realize he wanted. 

 

"Dean's delusion is multi-layered. He believes he's some type of hero—"

 

"For the apocalypse?" John asks.

 

"Right. Originally. He's also created an intricate latticework to support his primary delusion. In his mind, he's the central figure in a fantastic world beyond imagination. He's surrounded himself with friends— most with their own superpowers— who are as real to him as you or me."

 

Sam looks vaguely uncomfortable listening to the spiel, Dean can tell.

 

The doctor continues, "More so, unfortunately. Together they face overblown, grand conflicts against an assortment of monsters, both imaginary and rooted in actual myth. Every time we think we're getting through to him, more fanciful enemies magically appear and he—"

 

For the first time, Dean's trance subsides.

 

Dean, confused but urgent, starts to stagger up, "Enemies? The Djinn. It did this to me."

 

Sam starts, "Dean—"

 

The doctor gently eases Dean back into laying down. His eyes dart around, confused and frightened, drifting in and out. He notices the chubby toddler from earlier has crawled into Sam's lap, burying her little head into his neck. Very similar to how Sam had with Mary back at the motel in West Virginia. A very intimate relationship. He queried if, in this world, Sam had this pudgy kid, a wife, and a dog. She was beautiful, no older than three, blonde curls and when she peeked out of Sam's neck, had the most stunning green eyes he'd ever seen.

 

"Shh. It's all right. It can't hurt you here. You're with your family."

 

"Where's Mom?" Dean extends, tightening his grip on his hand.

 

John looks confused, "I thought she still died in his mind."

 

The doctor nods, "Yes. Dean inserted her back into his delusion, actually rewriting the entire history of it to accommodate his need for a familial bond."

 

Dean looks at him, his eyes coming in and out of focus. He needed to call for help, "Cas?"

 

"That's the Angel, right?" John asks, curiously.

 

"Ah, yes. Castiel. The romantic interest. The most intriguing addition to his delusion was the introduction of Angels. I'm imagining he was going to end up with this Castiel as his lover. But all his friends, the added family, they're not as comforting as they were, are they? They're coming apart."

 

The doctor clicks his tongue. 

 

He moans, tries to look away. Castiel is the romantic interest? The thought is absurd and rocks his brain enough that the corners of his vision start to fade into a black. But before he can fall into the sweet euphoria of switching back to his normal life, John snaps his fingers and catches his attention.

 

"Dean. Listen to the doctor. What he's saying is important," John says. Dean, still out of it, but is becoming agitated, more confused.

 

"We want to help you get better. And I think you want that too. Your enemies— look at them. You used to create grand villains to battle against. And now what is it? Just ordinary people. Not gods or monsters. Just English librarians," The doctor says.

 

Dean's mind reeling with doubts. But he knows this isn't real. It can't be—

 

 

 

Castiel is the first thing he sees, sky-blue eyes shining and staring uninterrupted into his. It freaks him out for a second because he hadn't seen Castiel in weeks, the nagging sensation of just being in the hospital is enough to make him question the legitness of the angel perched in front of him, "Dean? Are you alright?"

 

He blinks, "Where am I?"

 

"We've transported you to the bunker. You're under the clutches of a very serious poison, one I can not heal you from," Cas says, using his right hand to stroke Dean's face and cup his jaw. He feels the flame of Castiel's grace flow through him, healing his stomach injury, "Focus on my voice and it will anchor you here."

 

He nods, just closing his eyes and centering on Castiel's voice, the gruff baritone continues for about thirty-seconds then naturally trail off. Dean feels weird that he didn't even listen to the actual words being said, just listening to the rise and fall of Castiel's voice. He opens his eyes, adjusting to the bright lights and zeroing in on Castiel relaxing on the edge of his bed.

 

"So, I thought you were off hanging out with your new BFF Crowley?" Dean starts, casually provoking him.

 

Castiel shakes his head, "Lucifer is only in the bottom of the ocean, Dean. Not dead. Or in the cage. He's still a threat, even if his vessel is seriously damaged. I'm working on my current mission, eradicating the absolute evil I, personally, unleashed on the vulnerable world. If that mean's teaming together with Crowley, I'm doing it."

 

"Yeah," Dean laughs bitterly, "Because the last time you worked with Crowley for _the greater good,_ it really worked out, right?"

 

No one speaks, but Dean can understand Castiel's annoyed body language. Brushing off the death-glare he's getting, Dean pulls out his wallet and zones out on a picture of John, Mary, Sam and himself from before. He's certain longing is covering his face.

 

The door bangs open, "Good news. I found the Djinn. Fits your description. Look, is this it?"

 

Sam holds a printed-out picture, it's blurry and hard to make out. It takes Dean a moment to focus and look at it. The Djinn is looking right at the camera, her eyes a supernatural blue. He nods, "That's her. Smoking hot, right Sammy?"

 

Sam sighs, "See? It's gonna be okay. The Djinn carries an antidote to its own poison."

 

But Dean seems preoccupied, to Sam and Castiel's perceptions. Lost in questions. Vulnerable, "I feel so lost. I know it's not real. But it feel's different than last time. It's not my fantasy world. It's like the truth. Being in that hospital with you and dad, and even Bobby. Like the last twelve years didn't happen, it seems like the universe is trying to finally right a wrong."

 

"I know. You're confused, but it's just that Djinn juice inside you," Sam answers.

 

Dean shakes his head, letting things out he wasn't ready to even admit to himself, "It's more. Even before the Djinn. I've been so detached. But it's been so long. And every day I try to snap out of it. To figure out why I'm like that. Well, maybe this is why. I've been in a coma."

 

"No. Dean, look at me. You're not in a hospital. You've never been in a coma," Sam gives him a concerned glance.

 

A beat. Long enough that they both worry about Dean falling back into the hallucination. The Dean speaks, soft and embarrassed.

 

"Ever since Mom abandoned us again. Cas, you left, too. I've just felt like shit," Dean sighs, shaking his head, avoiding Castiel's piercing eyes. He could recognize that the previous annoyance had dissolved into pity. It was nearly worst. The one thing he couldn't stand was a pitying glance, or in Castiel's case, stare. 

 

"Dean, we're gonna get you that antidote. You're not in a hospital. Remember that, okay?" Sam's conviction helped to reassure Dean. He wants to believe. Sam adds quickly, "Besides, Mom's already hunting the Djinn." 

 

"Alone? Sam, she can't. It's too strong." He tries getting up but Sam eases him back.

 

"It's okay. We got help."

 

* * *

 

Mary and Crowley walk back to the deserted home Dean found the Djinn and was attacked at, not happy to be sharing company. Mary, armed with a tranquilizer gun, couldn't believe she's working with the king of Hell. If her father could see her now. But it was for Dean, which meant a deal with the Devil might be inevitable.

 

"Remember Mr. Crowley," Mary says, "We need to capture the Djinn, not kill it."

 

"I know more about monsters than you do, darling. Who do you think Moose got the antidote recipe from? Julia Child? I've killed and captured the alphas from every species of monster there is. The secrets in my noggin' would put those men of letter's to shame," Crowley brags.

 

"Okay," Mary replies shortly, trying to end the conversation. 

 

"So, he's going crazy, is he? Squirrel thinks none of us are real? Bloody self-centered if you ask me. Not to mention downright stupid."

 

Mary rolls her eyes, "Crowley, we need muscle here, not color commentary."

 

He continues, "On the other hand, could explain some things. This all being in that twisted brain of his. Especially what went down, between us, when he was a demon."

 

"What?" Mary looked confused and annoyed.

 

Crowley sighs, "Nothing. I just can't believe he thinks there's an alternate reality where we're all little figments of Dean's funny farm delusion. In your case, his estranged zombie mummy."

 

"Shut up," Marry grits.

 

"You know, a different reality, you might've not burned to death on a ceiling thirty-something odd years ago. Might've still been alive. You're Johny boy, too."

 

"When I said shut up, I meant it," She snaps, turning on her heel to face him, raising the demon-killing knife menacingly, "Now, I expect you to listen, or I'll slit your meat suits throat."

 

Crowley scoffs, "Empty threats, just like your sons. Predictable."

 

The Djinn springs up before them, shocking Mary enough to clutch onto Crowley's arm, then quickly let's go in disgust. The Djinn watches in amusement, eyeing Mary in delight, "Not that this little chat isn't cute, but I'd rather murder you both."

 

"You first," Mary stumbles back, earning a laugh from the Djinn.

 

"Wow," She smiles, "You put off a fake wall of intimidation just like your son. I'll make it easy for you, you can drop the act. I know you're scared just like I knew your son was. He's going to rot into emptiness, and there is nothing you or your little pet demon can do about it."

 

"Do you not know who I am?" Crowley smirks, "King of Hell ring a bell?"

 

"So, you're the demon Lucifer made his bitch?" She cackled and hits Mary's jaw.

 

Mary cradles it, pretending to be hurt, and then comes up punching. Stunning the Djinn momentarily. She seizes the opportunity to grab the tranquilizer gun and fires a couple of darts into its chest. The Djinn barely feels them as it lands an uppercut and sends Marry flying.

 

"You letting the human do all you're fighting, your Majesty?" The Djinn mocks.

 

"Letting her warm you up," Crowley replies, finally taking over. They spar for a moment. Trading blows somewhat evenly. Crowley teleports around her, making Adriana dizzy enough to stand still for a split second and allowing Mary to get another clear shot from the ground.

 

 She nails the Djinn with a couple more tranquilizers.

 

This time, Adriana notices. She turns around to go after Mary, but Crowley jumps from behind and chokes it. The djinn stumbles. Beginning to feel the tranqs. And after a quick struggle, it finally falls.

 

"Thanks for the backup," Mary gets out sarcastically.

 

* * *

 

 

  
Dean lays in bed, thinking about his mom and Crowley working together, his focus drifting in and out like he's on the edge of sleep. The simple idea of Mary and Crowley together sends clear warning signals to his head, caution tape around his heart. He considers yelling for Sam to call the whole ordeal off. He cringes, thinking about the small talk the king of Hell is presumably attempting.

 

"I made you some tea. I learned how when I was human, thanks to Nora," Castiel places it down on the bedside table. Dean looks at Cas, confused for a moment. He didn't even hear the Angel open his closed door. "It was actually difficult because you don't have a teapot in your kitchen. I had to use the spinning miniature oven."

 

"Oh. Thanks," He manages a vague smile as he sits up in bed. Castiel places the steaming mug on the bedside table and rushes to help him. "I'm okay, Cas, really."

 

Cas puts his hand to Dean's forehead, and frown, "You're temperature is over one hundred and escalating."

 

"Coming apart," Dean mumbles, abruptly half-conscious.

 

"What's coming apart?" Cas asks.

 

Dean struggles to focus on Castiel, it's like his vision is being altered. He says, "We have to try harder. Make things better."

 

"I'm am trying," Castiel replies with a confused head tilt.

 

Dean shakes his head and grabs Cas's arm, a little desperate, "You're leaving me again. Like always. When Sam died. In purgatory. During your little parade as Heaven's sheriff. You only stay when It's convenient for you. We have to deal with these things, Cas. You should let us help you get Lucifer—"

 

 

He is sitting on the cot, holding Sam's arm. Bobby and John are there too. Dean just stares, no longer shocked by the reality shift. But his face revealing the torment is getting to be too much. Sam, tenderly, says, "Castiel isn't real."

 

"Castiel?"

 

Bobby shakes his head gruffly. Patting Dean's arm, "No, son. Castiel isn't real. Say it. It'll help you believe it."

 

Dean's mouth shakes, "Castiel is real. He pulled me from Hell. You're the fake ones."

 

John smiles sadly, "Your mind. Playing tricks on you."

 

Sam lets a tear slip down his cheek. "We've missed you so much. We just want you to fully wake up, Dean. I got out of the life and you can too if you wake up. You don't have to be afraid anymore. I love you, Jerk. And if it takes another twelve years, I'll still be here waiting for you."

 

Dean melts at the words. Finding a solace he could've only dreamed of. His relationship with Sam had been shaky recently. He reaches out to touch the sasquatch's face.

 

 

He snaps back. It's like mind whiplash now. He finds himself reaching for Castiel's face and pulls back, disturbed. Agony in his eyes. Castiel has pulled back too. Looking at Dean with sorrow now, his voice croaks, "They're trying to convince you that I'm not real?"

 

Dean, utterly confused, mutters, "What?"

 

Cas clarifies, "You said it a second ago. Castiel is real, you're the fake ones. Meaning someone is attempting to sabotage this reality. And from the looks of it, you're beginning to believe it. How can you believe anything these phantasms are saying, Dean? You know it isn't real."

 

His confusion gives way to defeat, "It's so surreal, Cas."

 

Cas looks away, "Maybe next time I can dream walk with you, help differentiate."

 

* * *

 

 

Mary and Crowley appear in the bunker's dungeon, dragging the Djinn into a corner. Sam takes Mary's place, shackling it up. They've got it chained up and stumbling on tranqs. It trips, dropping like a tree right on top of Crowley. 

 

"If you beauties need me, just call," He teleports away.

 

Sam ignores him, "Mom, can you hold the Djinn down?"

 

Mary jumps on and starts locking her down. Adriana resists, weakly. Sam, wearing rubber gloves, gathering a container with a needle, says, "I need her arm."

Mary slips off, rolls the Djinn around and pins its arm down. "Ready?"

 

Sam strikes down into her forearm with the needle. The Djinn groans loud, cursing the Winchester name, then passes out. Sam harvest's the yellow blood that begins dripping in the container from the needle. 

 

Mary watches, "Gross."

 

"Mom, we'll need Alkanet Root, a handful of Nettle Leaf, and a pinch of magic. I'll see if I can brew up an antidote," Sam says. "I think the men of letters hold some fairy powder in a curse box like the one Dad kept all his magical items in, inside the laboratory, it will have to substitute since I don't have actual magic."

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Dean is in bed, not really awake, but not asleep either. Eyes open, lost. Body twisted awkwardly and mind distant like when he first appeared in the hospital. Castiel is off to the side, waiting until Dean fell asleep to dream walk. Sam comes in, carrying a steaming mug and wearing the same clothes as yesterday from staying up all night working on the antidote.

 

"Dean?" He barely reacts when Sam sits next to him and pets his leg. "Wake up. Got yummy antidote goodness for you."

 

It takes a while for Dean to come back from whatever fog he's in. His expression gathers presence. Then the same troubled emotions as before. He remembers the antidote and sits up, "What happened?"

 

"It took a little longer than I'd hoped. Fairy powder is extremely flammable. It went boom twice, but then I got it," Sam says, handing him the mug, "When it's cooled, drink it all down and everything should go back to normal. It might take a little while to kick in."

 

Dean stares at the mug. His expression unintelligible, "Thank you, Sam. You never stop coming through."

 

Castiel comes over. Dean reacts to him with a flinch, then spaces out a little.

 

"Make sure he drinks that. I want to let Mom know everything's going to be okay," Sam exits. Cas steps up to Dean, just for the simple pleasure of being closer, but Dean senses him and shakes his head. Fighting to gather focus.

 

"Are you all right?"

 

In his haze, Dean can't find subtlety, "You need to leave me alone. You're not a part of my life. You keep leaving me."

 

Castiel's own spite surfaces. Sick and tired. "This is what you do, you twist things. You keep saying I leave you. But as I remember, Dean, you're the one who keeps asking me to leave. I hope you don't think this antidote is going to rid you of that nasty martyrdom."

 

Dean passes away any anger, too tired. No longer caring.

 

But Castiel continues, "I figured it out. Every time something is going right with you, with us, you find anything to become mad over. You like living in misery, can't imagine being happy and admitting you love me— Because I know you do. You'd be happy if you did. But you're too twisted for that. Let yourself live already, Dean. You keep pushing people away. And eventually, they'll listen. Drink your fucking antidote and stop creating more drama, we'll all be the better for it."

 

Dean stares at Castiel, his eyes seemingly devoid of emotion, but he's listening. Considering. Castiel shakes his head. Giving up and he walks out. Dean sits there, still dazed, but Castiel's words definitely having an effect on him. He tries to focus, worried and pissed but tired as well.

 

After a moment, he goes calm, as if Castiel's words had helped him decide something. He looks at the mug of antidote in his hands, then pours it out into the trash.

 

 

  
Dean is sitting up on his cot. He looks up at the doctor, Sam, and John. Nervous and scared with tears in his eyes, but for the first time, completely decisive, "I don't wanna go back there. I wanna be healthy again. What do I need to do?"

 

Sam, John, and the doctor look at Dean, filled with excitement at his renewed conviction. But then Dean gets light-headed and he feels himself losing presence and reaches out for John to grab his hand, "Dad, please, help me. I wanna go home. With you and Sammy. And even Uncle Bobby."

 

"I know, son. But you have to get better first—"

 

"—And that's not gonna be easy, Dean. You have to take it one step at a time," The doctor resumes.

 

Sam smiles at him reassuringly.

 

"How?" Dean asks, sniffing.

 

The doctor smiles, "You have to start ridding your mind of the things that support your hallucinations. You understand? There're things in that world that you cling to. For your delusion, they're safe holds, but for your mind, they're traps. We have to break those down."

 

Dean grows thoughtful, trying. "Saving the word?"

 

"Yes, but, isn't that almost a burden? A responsibility?"

 

He responds to the doctor's understanding of his psyche, with a nod.

 

"No, by safe holds, I'm talking about the things you want there, Dean. What keeps you going back," The doctor look pitying.

 

A beat. Then Dean realizes, "My friends. My family. You want me to kill them?"

 

The doctor pauses, "Dean, they're not really your friends. They're just tricks, keeping you from getting healthy. You have to do whatever it takes to convince yourself of that. Whatever it takes."

 

* * *

 

 

  
Dean stands in the kitchen doorway, blinking and getting his bearings, keeping one hand on the wall for support. Sam turns away from the stove and almost collides with him, his face is spooked and eyes wide like saucers, "Oh. Dean. Didn't see you there."

 

Dean just freezes and stares at him.

 

"I was just coming to check on you. Are you feeling better? Did the antidote work?"

 

He nods, "I'm still pretty dazed. But better."

 

"No more cookoo nest?"

 

Dean shakes his head.

 

"We still got the Djinn all tranqed out in the dungeon. In case it didn't work and we need more blood."

 

Dean forces a smile. Sam reciprocates with sympathy. There's a beat where Dean's completely out of it, and Sam notices.

 

"It'll be nice to see you all better," He says it with disarming sincerity. Heartfelt. Dean nods touched but troubled.

 

"Thanks."

 

"I can make you some food. Something big with energy to help clear your noggin'. Cheeseburgers with bacon. I'll let my health-nut lifestyle slide, just this once. C'mon."

 

He grabs him by the arm and leads him over to the stove, where a couple paddies are already sizzling and popping oil, "Where's mom?"

 

"She went out for some grocery shopping. Apparently, we're out of everything that won't make us have a heart attack."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mary, carrying three bags of food, knocks on the bunker door. When nobody answers, she walks in, "Hello? I'm back. Sam? Dean?" She heads to the kitchen and finds Dean cleaning pots at the sink, "Hey, Dean?" Dean starts but barely looks up. Mary lingers. Uncertain, "Did Sam get the antidote to you alright?"

 

Dean focuses. Distant. "Um, yeah. I'm better now."

 

She sighs, relieved, "I'm glad that's settled. Can you help me carry these groceries inside—"

 

Dean springs up and grabs Mary in a choke-hold. Out of nowhere. Mary stunned, falls back against a wall when Dean grabs an angel blade from behind his back and hold the point to her neck. Mary gasps before she even knows what happened Dean attacked.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

She stumbles, as Dean jumps on her back, she attempts to grab him, trying to fight him off. But Dean stays on her, desperately trying to get this over with. They crash to the floor. Mary losing strength. Dean gets off and drags her towards the dungeon.

 

Dean brings Mary to the dungeon's doors, then pushes her in. She stumbles and lands hard, banging her head on the floor. She rolls on her back, losing conscience, and as she passes out, she sees Sam, facing her. Bound and gagged, his eyes wide with panic.

 

"Sam? What's going on?"

 

And she's out.

 

From the door, Dean looks at them through a mental fog, emotions no longer getting through, all sweaty from the struggle. It's an eerie sight. He flips Mary, kneels on her back and starts tying her up. Sam moans in desperate protest through his gag. The noise wakes the Djinn up. Still chained, but quickly coming back from the tranqs.

 

"You see the truth?" Adriana hisses at him, "I know you do."

 

"Shut up, bitch," Dean says, walking out and locking the dungeon door. He's got his angel blade in hand. Momentarily lost. 'Til he hears a door slamming. He turns, recovering. Expressionless. He walks calmly through the hallway, face pale, eyes empty and creepy. Feverish.

 

"Castiel? Is that you?"

 

"Yes, Dean. I'm in the library."

 

He tilts his head as if hearing this through the fog. Dean rounds the bend and heads to the library in no hurry at all. Emotionless and sleepy with fever, totally zombied out. He sees Castiel flipping through a book. He winces when Dean comes up behind him. "Alert me to your presence next time."

 

"Where do you think you're going?"

 

Castiel looks perplexed, "What?"

 

"Lucifer is at the bottom of the ocean, Rowena zapped him there. You can stay here and take a load off. But you still run off with Crowley," It's not angry, just soft and disturbed. Castiel is confused. But still sore about their earlier interaction.

 

"I don't run off with Crowley," Castiel mutters, "I just", he sighs audibly. "I'd rather not stay here and watch you slowly degrade."

 

"You're not going anywhere."

 

"Why not? You want me gone. Told me to leave. Even if you were doing it for Sam's life. What do you care?"

 

Dean blinks, trying to stay focused. Somewhere far inside, heartstrings being pulled. "I care. You're going into the dungeon with the others. It's the only way I'll get healthy."

 

He startles when Dean starts walking toward him, "What are you talking about? Dean, you look sick. What are you doing?"

 

Dean reaches to grab him. Castiel ducks and slips away. Dean turns. They face off, "What is wrong with you?"

 

But Dean just keeps coming. "You can't win, Cas. You're just an obstacle between me and my health."

 

"You're hallucinating," Castiel realizes.

 

"I know. You're just a trap for my mind," Dean walks, slow and steady menace, while Castiel keeps backing up. 

 

Castiel shakes his head, eyes going wide at the glint of the angel blade, "Listen to me, Dean, the hospital, the coma, and those people, they're not real. Look at me, Dean. I'm right here. I need you and love you. Somewhere inside, you must know that's real."

 

Dean pauses. As if thinking about it despite his fog. Then, stoned and out of it, "Sure it is. 'Cause what's more real?"

 

He keeps walking. Slowly figuring out what he's saying. "Dean, please."

 

"A college drop out with a couple bucks to his name rotting in a hospital? Or some type of righteous man, chosen to save the world? That's ridiculous," Dean smiles, distantly, "In what world would an angel love me? Need me? 'Cause that totally makes sense."

 

He lands on Castiel before he can block it, stabbing Cas in the shoulder with the blade. Castiel screams and struggles—

 

"Stop, Dean! It's real and I love you! Please!"

 

—frantically tearing at Dean's hair. 

 

They wrestle. Dean carving a sigil ruthlessly into Castiel's flesh. Cold and emotionless. Castiel drops down next to Mary and Sam. His hands and feet tied. He pleads, "Dean, stop this. You're under the delusions of a very serious poison. Listen to me."

 

Dean gags him. Castiel's voice becomes moans like Sam's. Dean stands up, trying to ignore him. But then he stops. The sight of his friends and family tied-up momentarily breaking his resolve. He squints, trying to keep his concentration, steadying himself. Forcing his delusion away.

 

 

The doctor smiles, "It's okay, Dean. Don't stress yourself."

 

Dean breathes, struggling.

 

"Take your time," John comforts.

 

The doctor nods along, "Make it as easy for yourself as possible. There's nothing wrong with that."

 

 

Dean's eyes are heavy. Clouded over again. He stares at his captives like they're just things in a room. Mary wakes up. Rubbing her head and looking around, "Dean?" Slowly remembering what's happening. But instead of listening, Dean just turns and walks toward the Djinn. Mary watches in confused panic, "What are you doing?"

 

The Djinn is awake and restless. Fighting against her restraints. Dean starts unchaining her. He lets her loose and the Djinn rises, pissed. He steps aside and walks back. Watching the Djinn turn toward Mary and the boys, "Well, thanks for the meal."

 

Mary, softly, "Oh my god."

 

The Djinn advances on Mary and the boys. Dean backs up. A little nervous, perhaps more present, but still stony and committed to seeing this through. Mary manages to push herself up, her hands tied but feet lose. Panicking.

 

"Dean, snap out of it. I need help. I need my hands," She yells, the Djinn rears back with a battle hiss, but before it can strike, Mary kicks it in the stomach with all her might.

 

The Djinn recoils, stunned.

 

Mary bodychecks it back.

 

"That wasn't nice, mother Mary," The Djinn taunts.

 

"Fuck you," She snarls, managing to keep the Djinn back with kicks. Until it's extra pissed. It swats Mary's last kick aside, then picks her up and slams her against the opposite wall. Dean reacts with a twitch of fear. Cowers in a corner, bleary-eyed, but watching. Breathing uneasy, growing tense.

 

 

 

John is alone with Dean. Bobby, Sam, and his grandchild had gone to the cafeteria some while ago. He notices Dean's eyes are glazed over. He's growing agitated, "Dean?"

 

Dean inches off the cot and stands, backing into a corner slowly as his resolve starts to crumble, heartbeat accelerating. John gets up and approaches gently, a little alarmed.

 

"It's gonna be okay. Whatever it is, it's not real, remember?"

 

Dean looks at him for a moment. Remembering.

 

"You've gotta keep concentrating, boy. I'm right here—"

 

 

 

He stops when Dean turns away abruptly. As if something in the dungeon had jolted him. His eyes fog up again, distressed. He backs up against the wall and starts sliding down.

 

"Dean, help!" Mary scrambles to get up and the Djinn piledrives her down. Then it turns, catching sight of Sam and Castiel. It moves in on them just as Crowley appears. He's got this frown on his face. The ropes come loose as Crowley snaps his fingers.

 

The Djinn swipes, but Sam and Castiel scurry away just in time. The Djinn turns to Crowley, "The king of Hell, again?"

 

"Yes, I'm tired of saving the Winchester's asses, but it's always good to have an IOU if you know what I mean."

 

She scowls, "Be ready to die, little demon."

 

Crowley laughs and pulls out his angel blade, lunging at her, only stopping when Dean splashes holy water on him. Crowley growls, disappearing with a hiss. Sam charges at him, knocking the holy water from his hands. Dean throws a solid punch, sending him to the floor, a tinge of guilt-filled terror hits Dean despite his efforts to remain detached. 

 

He backs away to the wall and down to the floor again. Starting to shake, trying to escape into—

 

 

John grabs Dean's arms. Firm now. Stopping his shaking. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."

 

"Look at me. Son, I believe in you. You're a survivor. You've got what it—"

 

 

 

More and more, Dean's resolve is fading. He's more attentive to his families' cries. But not getting up yet. The Djinn rises up and attacks Mary. She screams, but before it can harm her, Sam jumps on it, wrapping his tied hands around its neck.

 

The Djinn flips him over and hard on his back.

 

"Sammy?" Panic starts creeping over Dean. Mary scampers away. The Djinn, now turning on Castiel, grabs Castiel by the neck and lifts him off the ground. Choking him hard.

 

"Let him go," Mary breathes, grabbing a bat from the wall and hitting the Djinn with it. The Djinn drops Castiel but in the same motion backhands Mary. Sending her flying against the wall.

 

"Mom!" Dean rears back against the wall, violently now. Fear, guilt, and shock overtaking her.

 

 

 

"Dean, fight it! You can beat this thing. You're too good to give up. She's not there. She's not really mom."

 

John grabs Dean's hands and Dean reacts to his touch. Sweating, gasping, but still able to focus on her, "Be strong, boy. I know you're afraid. I know the world feels like a hard place sometimes, but you've got people that love you."

 

Dean calms a bit. His dad's words reaching him.

 

"Your brother and I, we have all the faith in the world in you."

 

Tears stream down Dean's face. Struggling to find his place. Things seem to slow down.

 

"We'll always be with you. There's a world of strength in your heart, Dean. I know there is. You just have to find it again."

 

A moment passes. Then Dean's panic and fear wash away.

 

"Believe in yourself."

 

Dean's lost in thought. Then finally, he nods. A pained, almost sad expression comes over him. His eyes suddenly determined. As if making a decision. He squeezes John's hands. Speaking slowly, with effort. Through tears.

 

"You're right. Thank you."

 

He grins watery, "I know you can do it."

 

"Goodbye."

 

John looks confused for a moment. Then suddenly concerned, "What? Dean?"

 

 

Dean rises up with solid intent, walking quickly towards the lambs blood and Silver knife he'd had for after the Djinn murdered his family. The Djinn lifts Castiel from the ground as it wraps him up in its arms and lifts him. Squeezing him midsection like it wants it to pop.

 

"Let him go," Dean barks.

 

The Djinn looks up and Dean nails it with the knife in the shoulder. It flies back, dropping Castiel, and hitting the wall at the other end. Castiel stumbles away toward the others as Dean advances on the startled Djinn. Riling himself up. Trying to stay alerted. "I thought you'd seen the truth, Dean?"

 

The Djinn comes at him. Striking with all its power. And it takes all of Dean to fend it off. He grabs it by the neck and rams it against the wall. The Djinn collapses. He lifts it up again and hurls it against the opposite wall. It stands. Dean rears back and almost like time was in slow motion, Dean stabs the knife dripping with lambs blood through the Djinns chest.

 

It goes limp. Dean withdraws the knife and it falls. _Dead_. He's dazed but defiant. A moment. Then he turns to his friends, "I'm so sorry."

 

Castiel looks at Mary, reassuringly, "Are you alright?"

 

She nods, clearly beaten with the blood and bruises, "Never better."

 

Dean stumbles but stays up. Still out of it without the antidote. The others are on the ground. Still suspicious of Dean. Traumatized and not sure when they'll get over his deception. But then Sam gets up, overcome with concern and sympathy. Castiel's arm is basically dangling on by the skin, the sigil he carved on him preventing healing. Mary looks like she was run over by a car. And both Sam's eyes are going to be black.

 

"Dean?" Sam stands in front of him, "Dean, sit. You'll fall over."

 

"No," He says stubbornly. He looks at Sam. Catching his breath. Standing as if it's keeping him in this reality. Dazed, but defiant now, "I can't. Not until I have the antidote."

 

"Okay. We'll make more. We'll take care of it," Sam pacifies.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean's sitting in the Impala in the garage, AC/DC blasting a volume of headache-inducing variety and the heater making the windows fog up. He has his hand over his eyes, thinking hard about the past few days.

 

All the comatose patents woke up in West Virginia, confused but completely aware of what they had done. Apparently, the media is putting them under the _drank some_ _cool-aid_ umbrella, as no other explanation fits why so many random strangers would commit a mass murder spree with identical motivations.

 

Mary had left right after Dean drank the antidote, watching him like a hawk then walking briskly into her room. She had given him an awkward pat on the shoulder before sneaking out the door that night without so much as a goodbye. He can tell Sam blames him, even if he insists Dean was "under the influence" and nothing that happened was his fault. 

 

It had been awkward around the bunker since. Castiel hanging around for the first time Dean wishes he would just leave. Hence why he's camping out in the Impala. He can't handle the pining stares from Castiel and the uncomfortable glances from Sam. It's too much. He remembers the love confession Castiel made but he's trying his damnedest to pretend it didn't happen.  

 

The passenger door opens which startles him into reaching for his pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

 

He frowns when he sees it's Castiel but shuts off the radio, plunging them into a heavy silence.

 

They just sit next to each other. Minutes pass and Dean's stress worsens.

 

"What made you decide to help us? How did you know it wasn't real?" Castiel finally speaks.

 

"My old man," Dean replies carefully, voice rough from neglect. "It might be sick, but he was being too damn nice for it to be real. If it was really him, he would've been on my ass about getting out of the bed because we needed to go on a hunt or something. But that's not what he was acting at all, he was understanding and loving. There were other clues, but that was really the tip of the iceberg."

 

Castiel reaches over to grab his hand and he tries not to recoil at the contact. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Dean."

 

"Uh, it's fine, Cas," Dean mumbles, flustered. He avoids eye contact. "If I hadn't been stupid, none of this would've happened. I knew, maybe subconsciously, that you guys were real. I just didn't want to live in this world, I guess. And that's why Sam and mom are avoiding me. I'd let them die to live with some fantasy mumbo-jumbo family."

 

"You didn't let them die," Castiel reminds, soothingly. "You pulled through, Dean. And they can't disregard you for long. I'm sure if you hadn't gone in her mind, Mary would've been content with that pretend world she had with baby Sam and dimpled Dean. And Sam knows you love him. They'll both come around soon. You need to stop beating yourself up."

 

"That's what I do, Cas. I beat myself up." Dean sighs, softening and squeezing the angel's fingers. "You were never angry, though. Why?"

 

Castiel smiles softly at him, "That's easy. I love you."

 

That word spreads a fire inside him. He feels a blush cover his skin like a blanket, heating up from the collar of his neck and settling on the mountains of his cheeks. He vehemently didn't want to think about this. Castiel loved him. It was a weird thought. One he had never allowed himself to think. Clearing his throat, face a blotchy red, he manages to scoot closer towards Castiel. They're a breath apart and Castiel loves him.

 

But that word not only lights the match inside him, it douses his entire body in ice water. He knows how he feels towards Castiel but if the angel is expecting him to make some grand gesture and confess his deepest thoughts, he doesn't know Dean very well. The simple thought of sharing his sentiments scares him shitless, especially after the ordeal they just went through. Dean just tried to kill his entire family. He can't do this now.

 

"I can't say it back, Cas," Dean whispers, dipping his head forward and laying it on Castiel's shoulder. "It's too hard."

 

"Don't worry. I know you're emotionally stunted." Castiel says it teasingly but still brings his free hand up to affectionately brush through Dean's hair. "You don't have to say it, Dean, I know how you feel about me. You care. You need me. You think we're family. And that is enough for me. I'm patient and if you wait years to be able to say it back to me, I'll still love you." 

 

"You're too good for me, Cas," Dean sniffs, closing his eyes. 

 

"You're the best man I know, Dean," Castiel rebuttals, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (If you want to message me any prompts or just talk, my twitter is @ImpalaLostiel - I might even tweet about future fics!)
> 
> Comment, kudos, and bookmark! I appreciate the feedback.


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